american horror story
by milk ghost
Summary: Blood, guts, and chocolate cake. — brick/blossom
1. i

**notes:** i'm sorta obsessed with mafia aus right now. that's my bad.

 **notes2:** yea so the boys' last name is salvatore because neither jojo or johnson really screams ' _omg, they're part of the mafia!_ ' to me.

 **disclaimer:** assuredly i do not.

i.

 **[** _someone told the stars that you weren't coming out tonight,_

 _so they all found a place to hide_ **]**

He presses her roughly against the wall, and she has nowhere to go. Of course he's a strategist, even now. She pulls him close in an attempt to get some—any—leverage over him in the situation. He tenses under her touch, because she is so much more gentle than he could ever dream of being. His hands have taken more life than that of people she's met, most likely. They're stained with blood, and she is not.

Her fingers smooth the lines of his dress shirt, and his breath is hot against her skin.

"What have you done?" he mumbles lowly, eyes on fire. He's angry, she knows. Furious, perhaps. She remembers the legends and whispers around the alleyways and bars of this man's bloody eyes and his thousand degree temper. His wrath had been the downfall of many men.

Blossom wonders why he hasn't just killed her yet. That appears to be his way, after all. Or maybe he's just waiting to let someone else do the dirty work. "I just wanted answers," she replies, eyes lowered. "The detectives weren't doing their jobs." Here, she looks him straight in the eye, and he can see that she is not afraid. "So I did it for them. You're not as careful as you think, Mr. Salvatore."

This obviously strikes a nerve within him. "I could kill you," he grinds out, "right _now_. Nobody would ever find your body. I will make sure that no one will ever find out what the hell happened to you."

She leans forward, heart in her throat, because she is just a secretary and now she is going to die. "Do it," she dares him, hating herself because she is terrified. "Murder me like you've murdered all those other people who've gotten in your way—in the way of the Mafia. Slit my throat here, away from prying eyes. No one would hear my screams anyway. They're all too busy dancing."

Blossom doesn't even comprehend the words that are coming out her mouth. She knows that she is an absolute moron who probably deserves to die at this point, if she's perfectly honest, but she doesn't want to die.

The head of the Town Mafia sucks in a breath at her daring. She'd goddamned just _challenged_ him to end her life, like a fool. She had given him the green light to slaughter her, and yet, he doesn't move. He just stares at the perplexing mystery girl who had shown up at this gala and danced with him and broken into the Mafia's record room and then into his personal room. Now, she had just dared him to kill her. Who the hell was she?

Blossom feels dizzy with the glamour of the gala and the small glass of champagne she'd had earlier. She's already made several bad decisions tonight, why stop now? If she's going to dig herself into a grave, she might as well start throwing the top soil onto it. Go big or go home, her sister always said. If only Buttercup could see her now.

Slowly, gently, she slides her fingers to the nape of his neck and leans up. Then, she kisses him. It is urgent and heaving and full of something. It causes him to stumble, fumbling for a better grasp of her, for a longer taste of her. But then she is gone, slipping out of his arms and away from his reach. Blossom had long since kicked off her heels, and runs uninhibited to the large windows across the room. She unlatches one and climbs up onto the ledge, closing her eyes in composure and sucking in a deep breath between her teeth.

 _Lord. I am actually insane._

Brick stumbles across the room for her.. Briefly, she turns to give him one last, sparing glance. Her eyes are alive and bright and he's never seen a girl so breathtaking in all his life. The feeling of her searing kiss is burned into his memory and he's so starving and she is about to jump from a three story window.

"I know who you are," she reveals, wind already greedily clawing at her hair and gown.

She steps into nothingness, and _falls._

 _tbc_


	2. ii

**notes:** apologies for the confusion. this is a bit of a rewind fic.

 **notes2:** also kind of noir pi? not just mafia-based.

ii.

 **[** **** _a knife twists at the thought_ _that i should fall short of the mark_ **]**

 _72 hours earlier—_

Blossom sips on her 12 o'clock coffee as she scans over the files left for review and the newest edition of Vogue. At once. She likes to consider herself a multitasker, and one of the best at that. The stack of paperwork that Mitch and Mike piled onto her desk is honestly a nightmare—cases from two months ago that still needed to be dealt with and sealed away. She rolls her eyes at the doors to their offices and taps her manicured nail on the desktop. These cases ranged from cheating husbands to stolen jewelry to missing persons and a peculiar strain of burglaries. She takes another drink of her coffee and narrows her eyes at the burglary file.

The secretary pulls it out from under the stack and flips it open. Seven houses had been hit within two weeks. None of them were in the same neighborhood, and the only similarities is that the homes belonged to those of middle class income. In each case, someone had broken the lock on the back door by smashing the lower right pane of glass. The strange thing, however, was that seemingly nothing had been stolen.

She's shuffling through the photographs from the crime scene when someone buzzes the desk. Blossom pauses, eyes flitting to the door, and leans over to the intercom. "Believe and Mitchelson Detective Services," she recites, "how may I help you?"

"Blossom," a familiar voice responds over the line, "it's Robin."

The secretary perks up, eagerly pressing the button to unlock the door and grant her friend entry. Her bright smile drops, however, when Robin walks in. Her old friend looks like she hasn't slept in two or three days. There are bags under her eyes that are darker than her wool gray dress. Robin runs away some smudged mascara and drops into the chair across from the front desk.

"Robin," Blossom leans over the mountain of paperwork and photographs separating them, "what's going on? What's wrong?"

The dark-haired woman fidgets with her purse, eyes wandering to Mike's office. "Do you remember Julie Bean?"

Of course she remembers Julie Bean. Blonde, green-eyed, perky Julie from their school years together. She always reminded Blossom of her youngest sister, a bit.

"Yes, I remember her. Why? What happened?"

Robin looks back to her, eyes wide in a panic. "She hasn't come to work in days, Bloss. _Days_. We were supposed to be working on a piece about the recent string of breaking and entering going on over in the west end of town, but I haven't heard from her since Monday. It's Thursday, Bloss. This isn't like Julie. I think something's happened to her."

Blossom leans back in her chair. "Have you gone to the police? You know they—"

"They what? Laughed at me when I walked into the station and tried to report her as missing? Blossom, you know that even if the police could do something, if they would do something, they'd never find her. I was hoping that Mike—I'm here to put in a formal request." Robin straightens, fingers tightening around the strap of her purse. "I'm here to hire the agency to find Julie."

True to her position, Blossom pulls out a tablet of paper and a pen. "Okay. I want you to tell me everything you know about Julie that I don't already know. Does she frequent certain places? Where would she go if she was in trouble? What was the last thing she said to you? Where was the last place you knew she was?"

Robin exhales, chewing on her red lips. "She likes Italian food? Big love for that little hole-in-the-wall place on 3rd. She'd go there all the time. She had a meeting with one of our informants the last day I saw her. She also told me that she was going on a date that night, but I could've sworn she was into Dan from editing. She's devoted to her job as a journalist. And every time I call her, her phone always rings as if it's already in use."

Blossom frowns as she jots down all the information that Robin had given her. "I'm going to write up a file for Mike. He's out on a case right now, but he should be back around 3. These others cases can wait. We'll find Julie, Robin. I promise you."

Robin closes her eyes, migraine already close to forming. "I hope so."

x

"What do you mean you don't have time for the case?!" Blossom shrieks, case files dropping from her arms.

Mike spares her a glance as he pulls his coat from the holder. "Listen, Blossom. Right now I have a jewel thief to catch. This is time sensitive, you know that."

" _Yes,_ " she seethes. "I do know that a missing persons case is time sensitive. Mike, if Julie is in trouble—"

The private detective pulls on his overcoat and grabs his hat off the knob of the stand. "Let me catch this jewel thief, and then I'll find Julie. Or you could call Mitch."

"Mitch is in New Mexico tracking down an escaped convict, Mike. I can't just call him over for some coffee and a case. It's from Robin, Mike. Your Robin. This is our friend who's missing."

Blossom watches in disbelief as he grabs his briefcase and turns toward the door. "And I'm collaborating with the TPD on this one to catch a band of art thieves. If we take down this guy, then we take down the entire group. Do you know how good that is for the agency, Blossom?"

"Mike," Blossom warns as he reaches for the doorknob, "just listen to the details of the case and you'll see that—"

He doesn't even look at her as he leaves. "See you, Bloss."

She slams the file down on her desk and sinks into her chair. "How could he…I don't understand." her eyes wander to the window.

The shades are drawn, but she can see small droplets of water racing down the panes. Her brows furrow as she thinks back on what Robin had said about Julie. She'd had a meeting with an informant on the break-in case and then a date that night. No one had heard from her since Monday. It was Thursday.

Blossom taps her fingers on the desk and frowns. Rising from her chair, she grabs her purse and coat. If Mike wasn't going to look into the case, then she would. Someone had to find Julie. She had a mother and a father and friends who cared about her. Blossom wasn't going to let her disappear without a trace.

Looks like she's headed to 3rd Avenue.

 _tbc_


End file.
